Read Between the Lines
by signpost
Summary: Bumlets didn't like Dutchy and never did. So when Dutchy asked Bumlets to teach him to read, Bumlets meant to say no. He really did. [Slash. One Shot.]


It was an annoyingly warm day for late winter, and Bumlets pulled the sweat-dampened fabric of his collar away from his skin with a grimace. Standing in line at the Distribution Center was never terribly fun, even under the best of circumstances – he was never able to stop his mind from frantically calculating exactly how much he had to sell that day in order to break even after a bad game of poker with Racetrack, or after chipping in for a friend's birthday present, or even after going to a vaudeville show – and when his forehead was starting to bead up _this_ early in the day… Well, it never failed to put him in a foul mood.

Usually, he would have someone to talk to while waiting to get his papes – Snipeshooter, or Jake, or Pie-Eater, most often – but today, it seemed, everyone was all clustered further up in the line, roaring with hilarity at… _something_. Frowning, Bumlets shifted from foot to foot, trying to see what was going on. A snatch of conversation reached his ears:

"… And when she was done screamin' and carryin' on, I said, 'Look, lady, I'm sorry your underclothes don't fit so good anymore, but I was already wearin' the _rest_ of the outfit, and what kind of lady would I be if I went out in a dress without underclothes?'"

A new wave of laughter rocked the newsies, and the crowd parted just enough for Bumlets to see a familiar head of bright blond hair in the middle. He scowled. _Dutchy_.

It wasn't that Bumlets disliked Dutchy; after all, Dutchy had never done anything bad to him. There was something about Dutchy that Bumlets didn't like, though. Maybe it was his swaggering bravado and his constant need to be the center of attention. Maybe it was the way that all of the other newsies always seemed so willing to make Dutchy the center of attention. Or maybe it was the fact that, despite the several years in which they'd both been at the Lodging House, he and Dutchy had never exchanged more than a nod or two. It was as though they lived in two separate worlds, and though Bumlets couldn't _help_ but notice Dutchy, Dutchy had never seemed to even notice that Bumlets existed.

After what seemed like an interminable amount of time, the line moved forward enough that Dutchy had to stop talking long enough to get his papers, and Bumlets breathed a quick sigh of relief. In comparison to Dutchy's breathless chattering, the sounds of other boys talking and of morning in New York City seemed blessedly calm and quiet.

Watching Dutchy, Bumlets noticed him grab his papers and give them only the most cursory of examinations before tucking them under his arm and heading down the stairs to the yard, whistling cheerily.

"Hey, Dutchy," Mush called out from just in front of Bumlets, "how's the headline?"

Dutchy merely shrugged in reply. "It don't really matter." He tucked his papers even more securely under his arm.

Skittery was the next down the stairs, and he gazed at his paper for a long moment. "'It don't really matter?'" he quoted incredulously. "America just went to war in the Philippines and made peace with Spain and those don't matter?"

Shifting from foot to foot, Dutchy pulled his cap further down on his head. "Well," he said slowly, "any of you guys know where these Philippines is?" A general murmur ran up and down the line; for the most part, the boys seemed to agree with Dutchy. Wherever these Philippines were, they were far away, and America would probably beat them so quickly that it would barely warrant a mention in any newspaper.

For his part, Bumlets arched an eyebrow. Normally he would never have spoken up, not in front of all of these people, but today he was just frustrated enough to make it seem worth it.

"What about Spain?" he called out. "It don't matter that we just made peace with 'em?"

Dutchy glanced up at him, a half-annoyed, half-surprised expression on his bespectacled face. "You actually care 'bout the headlines? Unless we get a headline that the president's dead or somethin', _I_ don't care, and the people buyin' the papers don't care neither."

"Maybe I care 'bout _that_ headline," Bumlets responded.

Dutchy laughed loudly. "What _is_ this? All I done was say that the headlines don't matter. I don't wanna brawl over it." Before Bumlets could say anything else, Dutchy tipped his hat jauntily and strolled out onto the street.

Bumlets was aware that the rest of the newsies were either staring at him, or very carefully avoiding staring at him. Perhaps it shouldn't have, but that only made him more frustrated. What should they care? So what if this was probably the first time he'd ever really spoken up in public?

"Oh, shove off," he muttered under his breath, and stared down at his feet until he had his papes safely in hand and was leaving the Distribution Center.

It seemed that his foul mood hadn't been premature. Despite the headlines – which, he still claimed, were important – people just didn't seem to want to buy the paper that day. By lunchtime, he'd only managed to sell ten of the fifty he'd bought, and once the afternoon edition came out, he wouldn't be able to sell any at all.

With a frustrated scowl, he found a waste bin and chucked the leftover papers into it. There went twenty of his hard-earned cents, right into the trash. Maybe some bum would find the papers and burn them to keep himself warm; at least that way, they'd be doing _someone_ some good.

Stepping into a nearby alley, Bumlets leaned against the wall, his shoulders slumped. Today really wasn't going well, but he wasn't sure why he was as upset as he was. After all… he'd lost money, but it wasn't the first time, nor was it the first time that something involving Dutchy had left him feeling angry. It was too warm outside, but he'd survive. So what _was_ it that was upsetting him? He just couldn't figure it out.

Suddenly, a voice came floating down from above him. "You got family in Spain or something?"

Startled, he whirled around and looked upwards, only to see Dutchy sitting on the fire escape above, dangling his feet through the spaces between the bars. Dutchy was gazing down at him with as earnest an expression as Bumlets had ever seen on his face.

Bumlets spoke harshly to cover his surprise and – though he wouldn't admit it to himself – his sudden disconcerted feeling at the sincere expression on Dutchy's face. "What're you _doin'_ up there?"

Dutchy shrugged, looking for all the world like an innocent little child with his face pressed right up to the bars to look down at Bumlets. "Takin' a break. Headlines wasn't so good today, and people wasn't buyin'."

"Yeah," Bumlets reluctantly agreed. "I only managed to sell ten. But… why're you up _there_?"

"Why not?" Dutchy kicked his legs a few times, as if to show Bumlets that he didn't care at all what Bumlets thought. "Anyways, you didn't answer."

"Answer what?"

"You got family in Spain?"

"I… Yeah," Bumlets replied. He blinked. "How'd you know?"

"Because you thought the headline was important?" Dutchy suggested. "Only reason one of _us_ would care about somethin' like that is if he had somethin' at stake."

"Not everyone thinks like you," Bumlets said quietly.

"But it's _true_, ain't it?" Dutchy was about to continue talking, but seemed to cut himself off in mid-thought, and he shook his head. "I didn't come here to argue with you."

"No, you came here for a break, and I'm interruptin' it," Bumlets said. "I'll find somewhere else." He turned to leave, disgruntled. For a moment, he'd thought that maybe he could actually have a conversation with Dutchy, but Dutchy clearly didn't want to have a conversation with _him_. That bothered him, though he wasn't sure why.

"Hey!" Dutchy yelped from above as he walked away. "Wait up, ya dope! I wasn't done!"

Bumlets' steps paused, and he turned around, confused. Suddenly, Dutchy rolled to his feet and stepped onto the fire escape ladder. His weight sent it hurtling towards the ground, and Bumlets winced in anticipation of the crash. However, just as the ladder touched the ground with a _clang_, Dutchy leapt nimbly from the rungs to stand next to Bumlets.

Shocked, Bumlets stared at Dutchy. Dutchy gazed back with narrowed eyes. Finally, he spoke in a measuring tone.

"Kinda touchy, ain't you?"

"_What_?'

"You get offended too easy," Dutchy replied calmly, as though he hadn't just performed an extremely dangerous and stupid acrobatic stunt. "I said I didn't come here to argue with you, and you right away assume that I want you to go away." He shook his head. "You get all worked up over nothin'."

Bumlets' mouth hung open for a long moment. "So what do you want?" he finally managed.

Looking around as though to make sure that no one was watching or listening, Dutchy leaned in and spoke quietly. "Actually, I been following you for a couple of days, and you always come here at some point, so I came here first, 'cause I, uh, got a favor to ask."

"You have a favor," Bumlets repeated slowly, "that you wanna ask… of me."

Dutchy nodded, his face adopting its familiar obnoxious smirk. From up close, though, Bumlets could see for the first time that it was covering up something else, as though Dutchy were afraid that Bumlets would refuse and didn't want anyone else to see it.

"Well, what is it?" he asked cautiously.

Underneath his smirk, Dutchy looked almost as guarded as Bumlets felt. "I can't read," Dutchy said. "That's why I don't, uh, read the headlines. I always told all the guys that my specs don't work too good and they're just too blurry for me to read, but the truth is that I can't read at all."

"Why're you tellin' me this?" Bumlets asked quietly. He couldn't believe it. Oh, he could believe that Dutchy was illiterate, sure, but… Why _was_ Dutchy telling him this? It wasn't as though Dutchy regularly confided in him. This was the first real conversation the two of them had ever had! They were nothing more than acquaintances, so Bumlets couldn't fathom why Dutchy would be telling him something that was clearly a source of embarrassment for the blond boy.

"Because I gotta learn to _read_, don't I?" Dutchy said, his voice suddenly rough. "The guys are gonna find out sooner or later that I can't read, and I don't want that to… They'd laugh at me. And…" he paused, but continued after Bumlets didn't say anything, "I think it'd be good for me. If I'm ever gonna get a _real_ job, a grown-up job, I probably gotta know how to read."

Bumlets nodded.

"So," Dutchy finished, looking slightly encouraged, "I know that _you_ can read…"

"Whoa," Bumlets finally managed. "Hold on. Are you asking _me_ to help_ you_ learn to read?"

"That's it," Dutchy nodded, relieved-looking. "Will you do it?"

"Why me?" Bumlets asked, gesturing hopelessly. "Out of all of the guys… Pretty much all of 'em know how to read and could help you. So…why?"

Dutchy laughed uncomfortably. "Well, that's kinda… Because you ain't gonna tell on me."

"Is that a threat?"

"No!" Dutchy exclaimed. "It jus' means… I know you're good at keepin' your mouth shut. You've barely said a word since I known you, so you wouldn't tell the other guys."

"Maybe I jus' never said a word to _you_," Bumlets said pointedly.

Dutchy frowned. "No, that ain't it," he said vaguely, seemingly unaware of the intended insult. "You almost never talk to _anyone_. Sometimes to Jake or Snipe or a couple others, but even then, you don't say a whole lot."

"An' how would you know _that_?" Bumlets exclaimed. He had had no idea that Dutchy even knew his name, let alone whom he talked to or how much. This whole thing was making him pretty uncomfortable.

Dutchy looked slightly hurt, though Bumlets couldn't tell for sure, since his eyes were hidden behind his spectacles.

"I mean," Bumlets continued, suddenly feeling as though he'd been a bit too harsh, "you and I ain't never exactly bummed around together… and you're always so busy with all of the other guys, so I jus' assumed…"

Dutchy sighed a long-suffering sigh. "Look, you gonna help me or not?"

Bumlets hesitated. He really wasn't sure. On the one hand, his instinct was to help a fellow newsie, and it was always nice to be owed a favor. But on the other hand, this was _Dutchy_. Loud, annoying, _stupid_ Dutchy. Dutchy, who drove Bumlets insane just by _existing_. How much worse would he be if the two of them were stuck together alone? Bumlets couldn't teach him. How _could_ he? Dutchy couldn't pay attention to anything for more than five seconds at a time. If Bumlets even attempted to teach him, it would just wind up frustrating him even more. It was a bad idea. A really bad idea.

"Okay. I'll do it," Bumlets said.

Dutchy grinned, and it was a real grin, not his usual smirk. "Great. Okay. I'm gonna go sell more papers. We'll talk more 'bout this later. And remember," he warned as he left the alley, "not a word to _anyone_."

Bumlets stood there and watched him go without a word. He hadn't meant to say yes. "Great," he muttered. "Jus' _great_."

* * *

Though Bumlets was sure that at any moment, Dutchy would approach him and announce that it was time to start lessons, Dutchy didn't approach him for the rest of that day… or the next. Or the next. Or even the next.

Slowly, Bumlets started to think that maybe the whole thing had been a prank, even though he couldn't figure out quite _how_. Maybe it somehow made sense in Dutchy's twisted mind. Maybe Dutchy had been dared to do it, though again, why anyone would want Dutchy to convince Bumlets to teach him to read was a complete mystery to Bumlets.

During those days, however, he kept a much closer eye on Dutchy than he had before, and to his surprise (though he tried not to show it), Dutchy _did_ seem to spend a whole lot of time watching him. Several times, he glanced over at Dutchy and watched in surprise as Dutchy quickly and awkwardly averted his eyes. The first time it happened, Bumlets figured that Dutchy had just been looking at something nearby, and hadn't _actually_ been staring at him, but when it happened again, and again, he was forced to conclude that there was a definite pattern forming. For whatever reason, Bumlets didn't really mind that Dutchy looked at him a lot. In fact, though he would never have admitted it to a soul, he sort of liked it. He told himself that it was just smug satisfaction that someone who demanded so much attention seemed to find him – quiet, boring ol' him – interesting.

Confused and intrigued despite himself, Bumlets began spending a lot more time surreptitiously watching Dutchy, trying to figure out what could be going on in that blond head of his. It was then that he started noticing the strangest little things about Dutchy, things that he would never have noticed with a casual glance.

He noticed the way a single lock of hair on top of Dutchy's head refused to lay flat, giving Dutchy a perpetually rumpled look, or how his hair seemed to stick out every which way whenever he put his cap on. He noticed how Dutchy rubbed his forehead when weary, and how a muscle near his mouth twitched when he was annoyed. He noticed that Dutchy had a nearly perfect smile, except for one slightly crooked tooth that did nothing to detract from the charm of it. He noticed the dimple that appeared only when Dutchy found something _really_ funny. He noticed the way Dutchy drummed his fingers against any nearby surface when bored or uneasy.

By the time Bumlets began to realize that maybe he'd spent too much time looking at Dutchy, it was too late. He'd already noticed every little quirk and habit, and had committed each of them to memory.

And the part that made him the most uncomfortable was realizing that it _didn't_ make him uncomfortable.

* * *

By the time Dutchy approached him again, the warm weather had broken and it was again a cold, blustery, early spring day. Shivering under a light drizzle, Bumlets ducked into an alleyway. Huddling under a small overhang, he stacked his papers against the wall and tucked his cap low over his forehead.

It was only midmorning, and already he felt like going back to the Lodging House. By the time he could sell the papers, they'd probably be completely soggy and useless. In any case, he thought sardonically, scrutinizing the paper, today's headline made him nostalgic for the days of such exciting headlines as, "_Trolley Strike Drags On For Third Week_."

He had another motive for ducking into the alley. Everything he did or thought of lately seemed to have an ulterior motive, but as usual, he was not too eager to explore that motive. All he knew was that Dutchy had been following him since he'd bought his papers – and the blond boy wasn't exactly being furtive about it. Every time Bumlets had glanced behind him, Dutchy hadn't been far away. He hadn't approached Bumlets yet, and so on a whim, Bumlets had headed into the alley on the hopes that Dutchy would follow. Bumlets didn't want to admit it, but after the last week or so of silence and awkward glances, he wanted to get whatever this was out in the open… and he kind of wanted to talk to Dutchy again.

He wrapped his thin jacket more tightly about him and bounced up and down lightly on the balls of his feet to keep warm, and he waited.

It didn't take more than a few seconds, though, until Dutchy, every bit as soaked through as Bumlets, with rain misting up his spectacles and dripping from the wire frames, hurried into the alleyway, looking distracted. He was gnawing on his lower lip, which, Bumlets immediately knew, meant that he was concentrating intently on something. But when Dutchy saw Bumlets calmly waiting for him, Bumlets learned something new: when Dutchy was surprised, his blond eyebrows shot skyward until they were lost under the sodden mat of his hair. He seemed to have forgotten his cap that morning, and Bumlets felt a disturbing inclination to lend his own cap to Dutchy.

"Hey," Bumlets said.

"Uh, hey," Dutchy said, cautiously moving over to stand beneath the overhang with Bumlets. "So… you saw me?"

Bumlets chuckled quietly, half-wishing that he knew why his stomach felt like it was turning flips. "Would've been pretty hard _not_ to see you."

"Ah." Dutchy paused. "Sorry I followed you. I wanted to –" He turned his head to glance at Bumlets and his voice trailed off. What he was about to say then, Bumlets would never know, because Dutchy blinked several times and said hastily, "Uh, I was wonderin' if this'd be a good time to start teachin' me to read."

"_Now_?" Bumlets exclaimed, looking around them at the grey, misty morning, and vaguely wondering why the tips of Dutchy's ears were bright red.

"Is that bad? I jus' figured… Since folks ain't really buyin' today, there's time."

"Well, yeah," Bumlets said, "but I can't teach you out _here_. The ink on the pape would run before you learn anything."

"Oh." Dutchy gazed straight ahead, and that particular look on his face meant that he was conflicted about something, Bumlets knew. "Well," Dutchy continued casually after a long pause, "I know a place. It'd work great for this."

"What place?"

"'S a warehouse, but it ain't being used at the moment. It's dry."

"Dry," Bumlets repeated. He glanced around and sighed. "Sure, let's go."

A crooked grin tugged at the corner of Dutchy's mouth. "Should've known that would convince you."

"Oh?" Bumlets cocked his head to the side, gazing at Dutchy out of the corner of his eye.

"Well, yeah. I mean, _look_ at you," Dutchy gestured. "You – you're soakin'." Suddenly, Dutchy's grin trembled a little bit and he swallowed hard.

Startled at Dutchy's strange reaction, Bumlets turned and looked Dutchy full on in the face. And what he saw there staggered him: naked vulnerability. Dutchy's light eyes seemed to have darkened, but that might have just been the weather and the cold grey of the sky. Whatever their lightness, there was a strange expression in Dutchy's eyes that Bumlets wasn't sure that he should try to interpret; he'd seen similar gazes, but never any directed at _him_, and in any case… Well, he _must_ be reading it wrongly, because it looked an awful lot like desire.

After a moment, Bumlets was suddenly aware that he'd been unashamedly staring right into Dutchy's eyes, and that his breathing had turned shallow, and his pulse had begun to race, and that Dutchy was not only _also_ soaking wet, but was definitely one of the best-looking guys he'd ever seen. And even more strangely, Dutchy hadn't broken their eye contact, but was quietly gazing back at Bumlets.

Bumlets blinked and looked away, feeling a dull flush suffusing the base of his neck. "Right," he mumbled. "I am kinda soaked, I guess. Why don't we, uh… I can teach you to read. Yeah."

"Yeah," Dutchy mumbled back.

He gestured that Bumlets should follow him, and though Bumlets could very easily have walked next to Dutchy as he scooped up his papers and they exited the alleyway, he slowed his step to walk behind Dutchy. It seemed safer that way, somehow.

Their walk was silent, though somehow not as awkward as Bumlets would have expected, seeing as how he and Dutchy had just spent at _least_ a full minute staring into each other's eyes.

He frowned as Dutchy paused, looking around as though he weren't sure where he was.

"Dutchy?" he asked, moving up to stand next to him.

"I jus'… My specs," Dutchy replied, sounding frustrated. "I ain't able to see a damn thing through 'em in this weather. Don't worry, we're still goin' the right way."

Bumlets sighed and gave in to his earlier urge. He tugged his cap off of his head and thrust it in Dutchy's direction. "Here," he said brusquely. "This'll help."

"But…" Dutchy took the cap gingerly, as though it would fall apart in his hands. "This is _yours_."

Trying to look as casual as possible, Bumlets waved a hand dismissively. "Ain't like I'm _givin'_ it to you. This is jus' till the rain stops."

"Oh. Right. Thanks."

Dutchy put the cap on carefully, and Bumlets bit his lip to try and keep himself from thinking that it looked good, _really_ good, on Dutchy. In fact, it made Dutchy's eyes look a soft grey, and gentled his angular face. It made Dutchy _the_ best-looking guy he'd ever seen.

Biting his lip wasn't working.

As Dutchy flashed an uncertain grin at him and resumed walking, it suddenly all fell into place with a _click_ so loud that Bumlets was surprised that no one else heard it. It all made sense. The reason he couldn't stop staring at Dutchy, the reason that he couldn't stop _thinking_ about Dutchy, the reason that he wanted to talk to Dutchy, even the reason Dutchy had always frustrated him… They were all the same thing.

His mouth fell open in shock, but his feet automatically moved to follow Dutchy.

Somehow, some way, he liked – no, not just liked, he _wanted_ Dutchy. Wanted him in a way that he'd never wanted anyone before. Now that he saw it, so many things made sense. He saw in a flash why he'd agreed to teach Dutchy when he'd been thinking, _"No."_ Was it that Dutchy was loud and annoying that had always frustrated him? … Or was it that he'd been bitter deep down that Dutchy had never noticed _him_, never included him in his group? And then, when Dutchy _had_ paid attention to him, had asked Bumlets to teach him to read, had he suddenly felt that it was okay to start paying attention to Dutchy and stop resenting him?

Of course, Dutchy _was_ annoying, there were no two ways about that. But even in the very short time Bumlets had spent alone with him, he'd discovered that the brash exterior was definitely covering up something, and he wanted to know exactly what that something was.

Bumlets hadn't been aware that it was possible to feel the same way about a guy that most guys felt about girls, and he wasn't at all sure that it wasn't something of which to be ashamed. If it were something normal, wouldn't he have heard about it? On the other hand, if it were, in fact, something _terrible_, wouldn't he have heard about it? Was it wrong to feel this way? He glanced at Dutchy, still walking in front of him, and was struck by a sudden wave of longing.

Though he was sure that his reasoning was every bit as shaky as his legs, he told himself that it was only wrong if he did something about it and Dutchy didn't feel the same way.

There was no way that he knew Dutchy well enough to figure _that_ out. He could tell if Dutchy was in a good mood or not, if he'd gotten enough sleep the previous night, or even if Dutchy had a slight headache, because he'd _seen_ all of that, but he couldn't identify want. After all, he'd never seen Dutchy want anyone.

Or… Bumlets licked suddenly dry lips. Or had he? Dutchy _did_ spend an awful lot of time looking at him, and he seemed to know a lot about Bumlets. And… and if Dutchy didn't feel _anything_ of the sort, then _why_ would he have gazed into Bumlets' eyes like that?

Unless Bumlets' original thought was correct and it was some sort of prank, that is. But he hoped to _god_ that it wasn't a prank.

Dutchy paused in front of an old rusted door and glanced back over his shoulder at Bumlets with a twist of the mouth that Bumlets would once have thought was a smirk, and now knew was a crooked grin, and a damned attractive one at that.

"Right through here," Dutchy said, taking a firm hold of the doorknob and positioning himself sideways. Bumlets could see what Dutchy was about to do; quick words designed to stop him rose in Bumlets' throat, but before he could say any of them, Dutchy took a deep breath and threw himself against the heavy door with a _thud_.

Bumlets winced in sympathy as Dutchy stumbled away from the door, clutching his shoulder, his face frozen in a pained grin.

"You all right?"

"Yeah," Dutchy hissed breathlessly. "_Fine_." He rubbed his shoulder with a grimace.

"Why'd you do that?" Bumlets asked. "I'm sure there's a better way to get the door open."

Dutchy shrugged with his good shoulder. "Thought I could."

"I thought you'd been here before…?"

"Nah." Dutchy shook his head. "I only seen it from the outside. Uh… I'll go and find 'nother way…"

Bumlets held up a hand to stop him. "It's okay. I'll go."

"But—" Dutchy protested, but Bumlets cut him off.

"You think I can't do it?" He raised an eyebrow.

Dutchy pressed his lips together as if to say, _"That ain't what I meant,"_ but in the end he sighed and said, "Sure. Go ahead."

Bumlets nodded and started off around the brick building, watching for any sort of opening, but feeling as though he'd just won a small victory. If there was one thing he'd figured out about Dutchy, it was that in addition to his need for attention, he also needed to always appear to be in complete control; when he had failed at the door, he'd wanted to be the one to find a way in. Normally, Bumlets would have let him, but Dutchy was clearly still in pain, and he needed to show Dutchy that he had a will of his own. And Dutchy hadn't been able to risk saying _No_ unless he wanted to sound like he thought Bumlets wouldn't be able to do it on his own.

Even though Bumlets was still half in shock over realizing his feelings for Dutchy, and was still _completely_ unsure as to how to handle those feelings, he was still, he thought with a touch of pride, in complete possession of his marbles.

Most of the building's façade yielded nothing but brick. He'd gone at least 3/4 of the way around the warehouse before he came upon a window. It wasn't a very large window, but it was big enough for him – and by extension, Dutchy – to slide through. He searched the ground and found a medium-sized rock. Though he wasn't sure it would be large enough, he shrugged and hefted it for a few seconds before hurling it through the window.

The window shattered satisfyingly, but the noise it made seemed abnormally loud, and Bumlets cringed, just waiting for a cop to come running around the corner and arrest him. Luckily for him, the only person who rounded the corner at a run was Dutchy.

"What was _that_?" Dutchy called over to him.

Bumlets pointed to the window. "You wanted a way in, didn't you?" he asked as Dutchy skidded to a stop.

"Not bad," Dutchy said admiringly. "Wouldn't have thought you had it in you."

"Yeah, well, let's jus' get inside before the bulls come," Bumlets replied, and gestured that Dutchy should go first.

Dutchy shrugged, and, mindful of the broken glass, hooked one long leg over the sill, ducking into the dark warehouse.

"Come on in," Dutchy called quietly. "It's safe."

Bumlets nodded and followed.

Inside the warehouse, it was dark, and smelled of must and of rusting machines. Bumlets blinked several times, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. It was very strange to think of him and Dutchy, alone in the dark together. He swallowed and pressed a hand to his chest, attempting to slow the beating of his heart.

"Dutchy?" he asked quietly, surprised at how his voice echoed through the cavernous room. "Where are you?"

"I'm over here," Dutchy replied from somewhere to his left, equally quietly.

Finally, Bumlets was able to see enough to make out the shapes of hulking machines, and a lithe, dark figure that was Dutchy's silhouette.

"Why do you think this place was abandoned?" he wondered aloud. "Machines are _expensive_."

He sensed, more than saw, Dutchy's shrug. "I dunno."

They stood there in silence for a minute, Bumlets searching his mind for something to say. It wasn't that he wanted to sound particularly clever or anything, it was just that the silence between the two of them was becoming increasingly uncomfortable.

"So," he blurted out. "Let's get started with the reading."

"Yeah," Dutchy replied, and then seemed to look around. "How about over there? It looks lighter over there."

"Sure."

Gingerly, the two boys made their way over to a spot where a window, high above their heads, shed a little more light over them. Bumlets could actually see Dutchy's face now, but it was still lightly veiled in shadow. He sat down cross-legged on the wooden floor and set his papers down in front of him. Dutchy sat down across from him, on the other side of the papers.

"Right, uh…" Bumlets began. "It's kinda dark in here, but do you see this letter?" He pointed to a large "A" in the headline.

Dutchy squinted. "Not really."

"Yeah, I figured," Bumlets replied with a small frown. "Well…" He traced the shape of the "A" in the air. "Kinda like a triangle with legs, right?"

"Right."

"That's an 'A'. It's the first letter in the alphabet. There's twenty-six of 'em." Bumlets hesitated. "You getting any of this?"

"Sorta."

Bumlets sighed. He did want Dutchy to learn to read, but it certainly wasn't going to happen in _here_.

"Look," he started, a little nervously, "I don't think this is gonna work."

"What?" Dutchy exclaimed. "Hey, I'll get it, it's just gonna take a while, okay?"

"It ain't about that," Bumlets said. "It's way too dark in here, though. You can't learn to read in the _dark_."

"Oh," Dutchy said softly. "Why not?"

"Why're you so _annoyin'_?" Bumlets asked, then felt like clapping a hand over his mouth. "I mean," he stumbled, aware that he was probably messing up _everything_, but he'd started talking, so he had to finish, "you never just say that you _ain't_ able to do somethin'. It's okay to say that sometimes, but you always act like you're _perfect_, or somethin'. The only reason you asked me to teach you is so that none of your friends will find out that you can't read and that you _ain't_ perfect! Well, let me tell you, Dutchy, you _can't_ learn readin' like this. Period."

For a moment after Bumlets finished, there was a stunned silence. Bumlets wasn't sure if he'd give _anything_ to see Dutchy's expression, or if he was better off not knowing. Even though he had a sickening feeling that after what he'd just said, Dutchy would never want to say another word to him, much less anything else, there was a small sense of satisfaction at _finally_ saying it.

"You know," Dutchy finally said, his voice sounding a bit too neutral, "I think that's the most I ever heard you say at one time."

Bumlets stared. "Is that it? Is that all you're gonna say? You ain't gonna say anything about what I said?"

"Well, you wasn't exactly right," Dutchy said slowly. "Keepin' this from the other guys ain't the only reason I asked you."

"What were the others, then?" There was no reply. Bumlets sighed, frustrated. "I don't get you, Dutchy. I jus' don't get you. Out there, with the other guys, you always act so… so… You're such a _pain_ and so _loud_, and then you come up to me and act all nice. _Why_?"

"Because I _can_," Dutchy replied, finally with a little fire in his voice. "Because the guys expect me to act a certain way an' to do certain things, but I don't gotta act that way with _you_. You don't need me to be funny or stupid or… or whatever else."

"How can you say that you don't gotta act that way with me when I ain't never seen you act any other way before now?" Bumlets ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "It ain't that I mind you bein' _nice_, but why be nice to _me_ all of a sudden?" He was pushing Dutchy, maybe too far, and he knew it, but a little voice inside him whispered that this might be the only way.

"Well, why _not_?" Dutchy snapped. "You want me to be mean to you, Bumlets? Because I _can._ I just don't want to. I didn't bring you here to act like a jerk."

"But you didn't bring me here to teach you to read neither, did you?" Bumlets asked softly. _Now_ he'd gone too far. He was absolutely sure of it.

Dutchy blinked wildly, the motion visible even in the dim light. "_What_?"

"Did you?"

"Why're you doin' this?" Dutchy asked, and now he sounded miserable. "I… I jus' wanted to learn to read. I don't want nothin' else from you. Really."

"You never even been in this warehouse before," Bumlets said, "so why'd you say that this'd be a good place for readin'? Because, the way I see it, this warehouse'd be good for only one thing, and it sure ain't _readin'_." He kept his voice rough to keep Dutchy from hearing it quaver.

Dutchy lunged to his feet and backed away several feet. "_No_," he said, his voice soft, yet horror-filled. "No, I – I didn't – I – Don't – You're gonna tell them all, ain't you?"

"Tell them what?" Bumlets asked, rolling to his feet as well.

"That I – that I…" Dutchy trailed off and hid his face in his hands. "That I… like…" came his muffled voice.

Bumlets was being mean now, and suddenly he knew it. Fast on the heels of that realization came horrible, writhing shame. If someone else had pushed him like this, he would have been both furious and upset – and like as not, might never have talked to them again. It was true that he wanted to know how Dutchy felt about him, and that he could see no other way of finding out, but this still wasn't right. Pushing Dutchy until he cracked… He just didn't have the heart to do that. He didn't want to _hurt_ Dutchy.

"Stop," he said unhappily. "Stop, Dutchy. You don't gotta tell me nothin'. And… I wouldn't tell the other guys nothin' either." He looked up and sighed. "I promise."

Dutchy hadn't moved; his face was still hidden in his hands and he looked like he was about two seconds from bolting. His shoulders were shaking a little.

Slowly, as though approaching a wild animal, Bumlets walked over to Dutchy. He was thankful that the floor beneath him didn't creak loudly. As gently as he could, Bumlets laid a hand on Dutchy's shoulder, feeling the slender muscles beneath the wet linen. Dutchy's shoulder twitched under Bumlets' hand, but he didn't move away.

"I'm sorry," Bumlets said, knowing that there was only one thing he could do to fix this. It might end in disaster, but he couldn't let Dutchy walk out of here. Not like _this_. "I'm sorry," he said again, "I really am." He hesitated briefly. "It's jus' that I… I didn't come here to teach you to read."

"You didn't?" Dutchy mumbled in confusion, lifting his head a few inches from his hands.

"Well, I, uh, I thought I did. But I was wrong."

"Yeah, you came here to yell at me." Dutchy smiled, but it was a sickly, unhappy smile.

"No," Bumlets replied. "I didn't come here to do that neither, really." He felt a nervous grin twitching at the corner of his mouth, and let his hand slip away from Dutchy's shoulder.

Dutchy finally raised his head enough to look at Bumlets, but he couldn't seem to meet Bumlets' eyes. "You say you don't get me… Well, I don't get you," he said, sounding as though every word were a struggle to force out. "I always thought that you was a nice guy and that maybe I could talk to you, but then you…" He shook his head.

"Yeah, I… I know that I wasn't real nice just now." Bumlets looked down at the floor. "I was, uh, tryin' to find somethin' out, but I think I was doin' it the wrong way." He shrugged guiltily.

"That why you came here? To find somethin' out?"

"Yeah, sorta." Shifting his weight from foot to foot, Bumlets took a deep breath. "Listen, Dutchy, I know I asked you why you wanted me to teach you… But you never asked me why I agreed."

Dutchy looked every bit as uncomfortable – and even possibly nervous – as Bumlets felt. "I figured it was 'cause you was a nice guy."

"Well, like you jus' said, I ain't that nice." Bumlets forced a chuckle.

"If I'm really so awful, then, why did you?"

"First of all, you ain't so awful," Bumlets said as firmly as he could manage. "And second of all…"

He licked his dry lips. This wasn't going very well. The only thing he could think of to do was to go for broke. But that was easier said than done. He was as scared right now as he'd ever been. If he did this and it didn't help, this would become an out-and-out disaster, and if that happened… He didn't want to think about that. In fact, he didn't want to think at all. It seemed to get him into trouble.

Resolving that thinking too much was a bad idea, Bumlets took a deep breath, leaned forward, closed his eyes, and kissed Dutchy square on the mouth.

He would never be sure exactly what he'd expected the kiss to be like – after all, he hadn't really had any time to anticipate it – but it was nothing like what he might have thought it would be. Bumlets had always viewed kissing as kind of a strange thing; who in their right mind would come up with the idea of two people pressing their lips together to show affection? Of course, when he'd thought about it before, he'd always pictured kissing girls, and that might have been the problem.

Dutchy's lips probably felt exactly like a girl's lips would feel, but with his eyes closed, Bumlets saw only the face to which they were attached, the outrageously long lashes that brushed against the glass of his spectacles, the wet, messy hair, the pulse hammering at the base of his neck. Somehow, even though the kiss was inexperienced and clumsy, even though half of Bumlets was terrified that Dutchy would pull away and beat him up for having the temerity to _kiss_ him, it was just about the nicest thing Bumlets had ever felt.

And it was made even nicer by the fact that Dutchy _didn't_ pull away immediately. At first, he simply stood there, seemingly shocked, his lips slack, but it didn't take him long to respond. When Dutchy leaned into the kiss and opened his mouth, Bumlets' heartbeat doubled.

Now that Dutchy was kissing him back, it seemed like the right thing to do was to slide his arms around Dutchy and pull him a little bit closer. Dutchy responded by wrapping his arms around the back of Bumlets' neck and inching even closer. By now, Bumlets and Dutchy were flush up against each other, and in the dark as they were, it felt almost like they were one person.

Bumlets dizzily wondered how he could ever have seen kissing as something strange or difficult. Right now, it seemed like the easiest and most natural thing he'd ever done in his life. Even in his feverish state, however, he vaguely sensed that it didn't have as much to do with kissing itself as it had to do with _who_ he was kissing.

Dutchy wasn't perfect. He wasn't brilliant or rich and powerful. He was loud and cared too much about what other people thought of him. He couldn't even _read_. In spite of all of these, or maybe even because of them, Bumlets liked him, wanted him.

After what seemed like seconds, but was probably several minutes, the kiss ended. Neither boy let go of the other one. They stood there like that, Bumlets' arms around Dutchy's back, Dutchy's arms around Bumlets' neck, staring at each other in the darkness.

"So…" Bumlets whispered, suddenly feeling uneasy. He took a deep breath, wishing that his head would stop whirling.

"So," Dutchy agreed, sounding nearly as shaken as Bumlets felt.

They fell silent again, their labored breath mixing in between them and pulsing loud in their ears. Neither moved to release the other – Bumlets didn't want to be the first to let go, and he suspected that Dutchy might be thinking along similar lines. He wanted to say something clever and funny, but his brain wouldn't let him; it was too busy reliving the kiss over and over again, telling him how wonderful it had been, and warning him that he'd be a complete idiot if he messed this up.

That moment of frozen indecision in which neither boy was sure how to address what they'd just done seemed to last a lifetime.

Slowly, Dutchy let his head fall forward, as though to lean his forehead against Bumlets'. He was still, however, wearing Bumlets' cap, and the brim bumped clumsily against Bumlets' face. Bumlets blinked, startled, and took an instinctive step backwards.

He'd forgotten, however, that he still had his arms laced around Dutchy, who was not prepared to move.

Losing their balance, both boys tried to correct, but still neither thought to let go of the other, and the end result was that both boys fell and wound up in a very startled pile on the ground, Dutchy lying directly on top of Bumlets.

"…Oof," Bumlets managed weakly after a moment of trying to catch his breath.

Dutchy levered himself up on his forearms and gazed down urgently at Bumlets. "You all right?"

"Yeah," Bumlets said, though in truth, he'd hit the ground pretty hard; he wasn't about to admit that to Dutchy, though. "You?"

"I'm okay." Dutchy had a funny expression on his face, but before Bumlets could work up the breath to ask him what it was, it became all too clear when Dutchy snorted, his mouth twisted up something fierce.

"Oh," Bumlets said, not sure whether to be offended or not, "so it's funny, is it?"

Dutchy took one look at the disgruntled expression on Bumlets' face and gave up trying to keep himself from laughing; he collapsed downward, hiding his face against Bumlets' shoulder and laughing helplessly.

At first, Bumlets wasn't quite sure just what it was that Dutchy found so funny, and he thought that if Dutchy had been the one who landed on the bottom, he wouldn't find it nearly so humorous. But Dutchy just kept laughing and laughing, and now that Bumlets thought about it, maybe it really _was_ kind of funny. And he could only image what the look on his face must have been. He started to grin…. then to chuckle… and within a few seconds, he was laughing every bit as hard as Dutchy, their mirth ringing and echoing through the empty warehouse.

And suddenly, the tension between the two of them was broken. They just laughed, and when they managed to look each other in the eye, it just set them off again. As they snickered, the top of Dutchy's damp head brushed Bumlets' chin.

Finally, tears in his eyes, Bumlets managed to stop laughing long enough to murmur in Dutchy's ear, "So, you brought me here to teach you to _read_, huh?"

After that, they descended from mere laughter to hysterics, and anyone passing by the warehouse would have sworn that it must have been haunted, because there were some very strange howling noises coming from inside.

When the laughter subsided, after a time, Dutchy again braced himself on his forearms, slightly shakily because he was still weak from laughter. He looked earnestly down at Bumlets.

"So," he said breathlessly, "you agreed 'cause you like me, huh?"

"Well, it sure wasn't 'cause I thought you'd be a quick learner," Bumlets replied, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

Dutchy thought for a moment. "Yeah, I guess I'm pretty lovable."

Choosing to ignore Dutchy's preening, Bumlets continued, "And I guess you asked me 'cause you like me, huh?"

"It sure wasn't 'cause I thought you'd be a great teacher," Dutchy answered mockingly and playfully stuck his tongue out at Bumlets.

For his part, Bumlets arched an eyebrow and looked up Dutchy. "In that case, I guess you _don't_ wanna learn to read?"

Dutchy's face sobered up. "I do. I really do wanna learn to read. Part of the reason I asked you _was_ 'cause I thought you'd be able to teach me. I do wanna learn." He paused, and his eyes traveled over Bumlets' face. "Just not _today_," he finished with that adorable crooked grin, lowering his mouth to Bumlets'.

It would be a long time before they left the warehouse that day, and even longer, Bumlets was sure, before Dutchy would learn to read, but that didn't matter. There was plenty of time. There was all the time in the world.


End file.
